Following evening – Saturday, 29th October
In the end, Harry doesn't make it to her place that night as his JIC meeting runs late, and it's only the following evening that they finally manage to get together.
"You're getting very good at this texting thing, Harry," she smiles as she opens the front door to let him in, feeling thrilled that he's made it tonight and that work hasn't spoilt their plans again. "You didn't even bother with the doorbell! Whoever said that you can't teach an old dog new tricks clearly hasn't met you."
"Old?" he queries with one eyebrow raised.
"Well, no. I... I didn't mean old," she stammers, dropping her eyes in embarrassment for a moment as she inwardly curses her tendency to say things without thinking when she's either excited or nervous, and tonight, she's definitely a bit of both. "It's just a figure of speech."
"Humph," he grunts, his eyebrows falling to frown at her and his lips forming an adorable pout as he moves past her into the kitchen and sets the plastic bags he's holding on the counter, and she can't help smiling at his offended look as she follows him into the room. Once his hands are free, however, he spins round to face her, taking long, quick strides towards her, his gaze so dark and intense that she takes a couple of steps back in mild alarm until she can't move any further because of the wall behind her.
"Harry?" she whispers uncertainly.
"I'll show you old," he growls and kisses her, his lips pressing firmly against hers while his right hand slips behind her neck to cradle her head and his left one grasps her hip as he pushes his body firmly against hers, trapping her between him and the wall behind her. She grips his sides with both hands to steady herself, but before she's even recovered from her surprise, he's pulled back, his brow furrowed in worry as he takes a couple of steps back, raising his palms towards her and stammering, "God, I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't think. Don't be alarmed, sweetheart. Please. I'd never hurt you. I promise, I'd never hurt you."
She swallows and then clears her throat before she can speak, the memory of his body pressing firmly, deliciously against hers causing hers to respond very rapidly with desire. "I wasn't," she replies, focusing on his worried gaze as she pushes aside the distracting sensation of her belly churning with want and tries to stop her mind from gleefully dwelling on the endearment he's just used, clearly without realising it. "I'm not alarmed, Harry. I know you'd never hurt me. I trust you."
He exhales heavily and runs his hands down his face before he lets them drop to his sides. "Good," he nods and she watches the relief spread across his face as he smiles softly. "I needed to make sure. I'm sorry. I... forgot... for a moment."
"That's good," she smiles. "I don't want to be treated like I'm made of china all the time."
"Not china," he replies as he steps closer once more, his thumb rising to caress her cheek. "Far more precious and beautiful than that." He kisses her again, a soft, tender kiss on her lips and another on her forehead as he pulls her gently into his embrace.
She leans into him, all but sighing in contentment, but as the seconds tick past, she feels her desire for more than this build steadily inside her until she's compelled to speak. "Harry?" she whispers against his chest, wanting him all over again and trying to pluck up the courage to broach the subject.
"Yes?" he replies, tilting his body back to look at her.
But her courage deserts her at the last moment and she chickens out, unable to risk another rejection from him, however gently it is made. This is still so very new, and though she's decided that she needs to trust him and to give them a chance, she knows she's not strong enough to hear him say no again – not now, not this early on in the evening at any rate. Perhaps later when she's had enough wine, she thinks fleetingly before murmuring softly, "Could we eat? Only I'm starved and it smells wonderful."
He searches her gaze for a moment and she's sure he doesn't believe that that's what she was going to say, but he smiles and nods, pulling away from her and turning towards the table, taking off his jacket and draping it on the back of a chair before he moves over to the counter where he's set the bags containing their take-away. She helps him serve their food, delighted to see that he already remembers where everything's kept and feeling her heart warm at the domesticity of sharing a meal with him like this again. It's one of her favourite things about dating Harry – he seems so at home and confident in her space though they've only been together for less than a fortnight. She wonders why that is as she watches him opening the containers with their food, wondering if it's just an art he's perfected in his years as a spook – the ability to just blend into his surroundings – or if it's something else, perhaps because he's so confident and comfortable in his own skin. He knows himself, knows who he is, what are his strengths and weaknesses, what he is capable of and, in her opinion, it's one of the most alluring things about him.
"What is that brilliant mind of yours thinking now, Ruth?" he murmurs softly as he turns his head to look at her, making her blush at being caught staring.
"Nothing," she replies quickly, turning to look at the food he's brought. "Mmm, yum!" she adds in a bid to change the subject. "How did you know I love Thai food?"
"Nice try, Ruth," he grins. "I very much doubt that your mind ever thinks about nothing, and besides... you were studying me rather closely just now and I want to know what's captured your attention. What were you thinking about me? Is it really so bad that you can't share it?"
"No," she shakes her head as she picks up one of the serving spoons and begins piling food on her plate. "It wasn't bad. I was just thinking how... attractive you are because you're...so confident and comfortable with yourself, with who you are and... I was wondering what you can possibly see in me. I mean, I'm not confident or particularly pretty. I'm easily scared and, well... I'm boring really."
"Oh Ruth," he sighs, "you talk such nonsense at times. You? Boring?" She's finished serving herself, so she moves over to the table, setting her plate down and turning to the fridge to get the salad she'd made earlier, happy to have an excuse to hide her face from him as he speaks. He doesn't speak, however; he's silent, and when eventually her curiosity gets the better of her and she lifts her eyes to his, she finds him watching her with a small smile on his lips.
"What?" she frowns.
"Nothing," he smiles, his eyes twinkling at her. "Just you." She blushes and looks away at that, taking the salad over to the table, but as she turns back for the dressing she's forgotten in her agitation, he blocks her path back to the fridge, lifting her face with his fingertips under her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. "You are the most interesting and intriguing woman I have ever met, Ruth. You have a brilliant mind, a generous heart, gorgeous, expressive eyes, and when you smile, you light up my world. You make me want to strive to be a better man and to be the one who brings that smile to your lips each and every day." She blushes and smiles at that; she can't help it. "See? You're breathtaking when you smile," he murmurs softly, leaning forwards to press his lips against hers.
She kisses him back passionately, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him closer, his words making her feel confident and bold all of a sudden. He groans and she feels his arms wrap tightly around her, anchoring her to him as their kiss deepens, so that soon she's lost all sense of time and place. They stumble a little, moving together across her kitchen, desperately seeking something, anything solid to ground them because they need that, lost as they are in each other. They bump into the wall by the fridge, brushing a couple of magnets off it as they pass, both of them too caught up in each other to notice, let alone stop to pick them up. She pushes him against it, grinding her hips across his, her hands running down his chest as her lips leave his and take a journey across his jaw to his ear, her teeth gently tugging on his earlobe, her lips wrapping around it and sucking, her ears feasting on his moans of pleasure. "Oh God, Ruth!" he gasps as her hands find their way inside his trousers, fingers stroking him through cotton underwear while her tongue darts into his ear canal, delighting in the tangy taste she finds there. "Christ," he groans when she cups him in her hand, his own hand gripping her left breast tighter in response, his thumb rubbing her hardened nipple. "Wait," he begs as her hand begins to squeeze his cock rhythmically, delighted by how rigid, thick, and hot he is even through his trunks. "Please, stop."
And just as quickly as the feeling of boldness had come, it drains away to be replaced by insecurity and fear that she's done something wrong. "Sorry," she whispers, pulling her hands away from his body as she attempts to move away from him, but his arms are strong and they quickly wrap around her, trapping her against him as he takes deep breaths to steady himself.
"You've nothing to be sorry for," he murmurs in a voice that's still deep with arousal. "That was... incredible. So good, in fact, that I almost creamed my pants. I can't..." He tails off when his voice cracks and he clears his throat, straightening his body and standing tall as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shaky stream of air. "God, Ruth," he sighs, his arms tightening briefly around her. "You're amazing." He buries his face in her neck, his arms still holding her close as she slips her own around his waist and links her fingers together, her emotions in turmoil.
She wants to run, to escape to the bathroom or her bedroom upstairs, but she's scared he won't let her go, and she feels so close to the edge, to losing it and breaking down in tears of hurt, frustration, and confusion that she knows she doesn't have the strength to fight him to get away. So she stays put in the hope of hiding her struggle from him and bring herself back from the brink of emotional breakdown where she's teetering yet again. She can't afford to cry in his arms again, she thinks determinedly, blinking the tears that gather away, telling herself to be strong, and miraculously this time, she manages to calm herself and begin to analyse his behaviour instead of losing it completely.
He clearly wants her, so why is he holding back like this? He can't possibly think that this is good for them, for their relationship, to keep taking a step forward followed by one back, never really getting anywhere, can he? She really doesn't want sex to become an issue for them, not when they already have so many obstacles to overcome to make this work – the cross over between their working and personal lives, the complication of him being her boss, the limited amount of time they actually have to spend with each other, the trauma of what's happened to both of them because of the job, not to mention the difference in their age and their natural reticence and reluctance to open up and trust another. They're good at sex together, really very good, so why is he acting like this? She mulls it over for a while, her head resting against him, and as she listens to his heart beating steadily in his chest, she suddenly has the answer – control. He needs to be in control; he's scared to lose control of her, of himself, of their relationship, and sex is the one place where she can making him lose it completely. That's how this whole thing got started between them in the first place.
She smiles in relief and unlinks her hands, running them smoothly over his back in affection. She's just going to have to show him that losing control with her sometimes is good and healthy. He can't always have things his own way, or they'll never survive as a couple, especially as he's her boss. The dynamic at home has to be different or she'll lose herself, her independence that she values so highly. She'll show him, she thinks, but not tonight; she's too tired tonight. Next week, she decides. It's his birthday on Tuesday, she remembers with a smile; that would be the perfect time.
Having made her decision and feeling much better now that she understands what's going on, she pulls back a little and smiles up at him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek before murmuring, "We'd best eat, Harry, or it'll be stone cold."
He nods, looking rather relieved that she seems calm and happy, and releases her, watching her move to the table and pick up her plate, taking it over to the microwave. "Best warm it up a bit," she smiles over her shoulder at him before proceeding to warm their food through, heating first one plate and then the other while he picks up the magnets they've dislodged and sticks them back on the fridge before retrieving the salad dressing at her request and carrying it to the table. Then as she's closing the microwave door, having already handed him the two plates, she hears him say, "I think you'll find you're in my spot."
She turns in surprise and puzzlement to find him looking at Fidget who's curled up on a kitchen chair, watching Harry with his big, green eyes. "Actually," she smiles, "he's probably thinking the exact same thing. It's usually his spot, you see."
"Well," Harry frowns, "not any more, it's not." Then he moves to the table and sets down their plates before gently pushing the cat off the chair and taking a seat. Fidget is not impressed by this at all and he lets out an annoyed hiss before disappearing from the room.
"Well, that wasn't a very nice way to deal with the poor cat, Harry," she objects with a frown.
"He needs to know that there's a new male hierarchy in this house, Ruth," he replies seriously, "and that I am the new top dog... cat..." he frowns, then waves an impatient hand, correcting himself again, "Alpha male."
She can't help smiling at that justification as she sits across from him, but as she pours them each a glass of wine, she sighs, "The first day he comes anywhere near you and you shoo him away. I don't know, Harry. Doesn't seem like you actually want him to like you."
"He'll get over it," he shrugs and takes a bite of his food, humming in appreciation before he adds, "Trust me, Ruth. I know what I'm doing. He'll be back in a few minutes. His pride's hurt, that's all. He's only gone off to lick his wounds. You have to be firm with them." He gives her a warm smile and then adds, "You'll see when you meet Scarlet."
"I can't wait," she smiles and digs into her own food, suddenly realising that she really is starving now.
Fidget doesn't join them again in the kitchen, but once they've moved to the living room and are cuddled up together on the settee with some gentle music in the background tonight and a glass of wine each, he appears in the doorway, meowing forlornly. "Oh Fidget," she smiles in exasperated affection, "come here, you silly cat. Come say hello to Harry. He's really very nice." He turns his head to look at Harry then as if he's understood every word, making her laugh, and with a little more encouragement and coaxing, he eventually does pad over to her and she picks him up, placing her glass on the coffee table and the cat in her lap. "There you go," she coos softly as she strokes his soft, grey fur. "He's not so bad, is he?" Harry's right arm is wrapped around her shoulders again, but he reaches to put his glass down with his left and brings it forward, allowing it to hover just under the cat's nose for a moment so the animal can smell him before he starts to scratch his head, making him close his eyes in pleasure and begin to purr rather loudly. She laughs again, saying, "I can see you have a way with animals, Harry."
"I like animals," he confesses softly, continuing to stroke the cat. "They're so much easier than people. Straight-forward and direct. They don't play chess. They either like you or they don't, and they let you know pretty quickly either way."
She smiles, turning her face to kiss his jaw and cuddling closer to him, nestling her head under his chin as she feels his right hand squeeze her shoulder. "But you prefer dogs to cats?" she asks moments later in an effort to keep herself awake, his warmth, the steady beating of his heart, and the gentle rising and falling of his chest beginning to lull her to sleep.
"I do," he replies. "They're loyal, affectionate, and they protect their people."
"Just like you," she murmurs sleepily, feeling her eyes droop and finally close with fatigue. She can't see his face, but she thinks she feels him smile, and in the morning, this is the last memory she has of that night. When she wakes up alone, at past noon the following day, snuggled up in her bed, in the blouse, bra and knickers she wore the night before, she has no recollection of how she got into bed, and though she feels a little groggy and disoriented for a few moments, she realises that, for the first time in a fortnight, she feels properly rested, she feels human again.